Inside Joke
by halfdog
Summary: A My Chemical Romance, The Used, Twilight, and The Outsiders fanfic.


**Chapter 1**

_Just another day in Hell's Kitchen, NY,_ I thought, gazing blankly at the sidewalk in front of me. I was sitting next to the door to my apartment building on W 44th and 8th. It's not that great a neighborhood, but I like being fourteen blocks away from Central Park. Yeah, I counted. So what?

I'm Helena Lee Rush, age fourteen, New York City, NY. No one calls me Helena, though—everyone calls me Lee or Rush. I'm tough, I play the guitar, and I like to draw. I'm kinda small for my age, with black hair and grey eyes. I've got two brothers, Jake and Emmett. We're part of the gang in our neighborhood. There's no leader, because we're really just a group of friends sticking out for each other and watching out for the Pops.

The Pops, or the Populars, are the snooty, stuck-up, rich kids from the upper west side. They've warmed to the idea of jumping, throwing stuff at, or otherwise rendering those of us from Hell's Kitchen and Alphabet City extremely pissed or injured in every way possible. At school though, it's fun to get a good grade on a test and then watch their faces when they get their "Fails." Sadly, it's winter break now, so any prestige I've gained in school for being a good student is on temporary leave while I sit around doing nothing for the holidays.

My breath was making fog in the New York City winter air. I shivered, zipping up my black hooded jacket. I was wearing a grey pullover and a t-shirt underneath, as well as my black fingerless gloves and black jeans, but I was _still_ cold. Where's the fairness in that?

My cell phone rang, and I jumped three, maybe four feet into the air. I fumbled for it and looked at the number before answering it.

"Hey Den!"

Denorii is my best friend. Her real name is Diana Matthews, but back when we were in the second grade some guy gave her that name and it stuck. I sometimes think that half of her friends don't actually know her real name. She's fourteen, like me, but sometimes she acts younger, like a five-year-old, or older, like a twenty-year old. She's taller than I am, with dark brown hair and green eyes. She always wears a black-and-red striped scarf with a black trench coat and jeans, winter or summer. She's also part of our neighborhood gang. Back to my story.

"Lee! I'm at central park, they've got me surrounded. I'm by the pond. Hurry!" Den's voice was tense and full of fear. I could hear the tremble in her voice and could tell that she was on the verge of tears.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Den," I assured her, before terminating the call and stuffing my phone in my pocket. There was no time to run to the subway station, no time to run inside and grab my bike. I made sure I had my switchblade with me before dashing down the street and turning onto 8th avenue.

"Hey Rush, 'tsup?" Two teenagers, Mikey Way and Frank Iero, were leaning against a newly graffitied wall. Empty cans of spray paint lay at their feet. Their logo, a rose surrounded by a circle of guns, was on the wall behind them.

Mikey and Frank are also part of our gang. Mikey's my cousin, his older brother Gerard is Emmett's best friend. I'm way closer to Frank and Mikey, with Den; we're something of a foursome. Mikey's tall and skinny, with long blondish brown hair that he always keeps in a little Mohawk and dark hazel eyes. He's fourteen, like me and Den. He's always smiling, even when we're in a rumble. _Especially_ when we're in a rumble.

Frank's shorter and stockier, with long black hair that falls over is eyes all the time and reaches his shoulders. He's thirteen, the youngest in the gang.

Mikey looked closer at me.

"What's wrong, Rush?" he asked. I took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Denorii's in trouble," I whispered. Mikey's eyes opened wide and Frank's smile disappeared, to be replaced by a worried frown.

"What happened?" Frank demanded, staring into me.

"She called me about five minutes ago. All she said was that she's at the pond and she's surrounded. Bet it's the Pops."

Frank swore. Mikey put his head in his hands.

"Gerard's inside," Mikey said, "He can drive us."

I nodded mutely, and Mikey dashed inside as fast as he could. I was trembling, trying not to cry. I felt Frank's hand come around my shoulders.

"It's gonna be okay, kid, she's gonna be okay," he muttered. I nodded into his shoulder. In the back of my mind I wondered what the random passerby thought of this scene—two tough, hardened hoods comforting each other in the middle of the sidewalk.

Just then Mikey and Gerard skidded out the door. Gerard's tall and thin, like Mikey, but his eyes are greener, and his hair is black. Gerard fumbled for his car keys and unlocked his silver Subaru XT, ushering me and Frank into the back. Mikey took shotgun, and Gerard slid into the driver's and started the engine. We sped out of there as fast as we could, knowing we had no time to waste.


End file.
